The Feral Sentence - Part One

by G. C. Julien

  “Start by getting yourself a pouch—you know, for your pearls.” She tapped the side of her belt, from which hung a leather pouch filled to the point of hardness. “And a belt,” she quickly added, eying my waist.

  I stared at the fist-sized pouch dangling at her side. “Aren’t you scared of theft?”

  She shrugged.

  “It’s always a possibility. That’s why you don’t carry it all with you. I bury mine.” She grinned and showed me her fingernails, which were filthy brown in every crevice. I couldn’t believe we’d shared a dish.

  I nodded slowly.

  She pinched one of the pearls in my hand and stared down at me from behind her bright yellow eyes.

  “Pouch.”

  She then pinched the other pearl she’d given me and said, “Bowl.”

  She finally grabbed the last pearl, but this time, she smiled.

  “Anything you’d like.”

  I smiled back, feeling completely awkward and wanting nothing more than for her to remove her germ-encrusted hand from mine.

  I thanked her again and continued my path inside the Tools tent. It wasn’t like any store you’d find in the real world—everything was dim, and there was no welcome bell, no “Hello, how are you?” from a tired cashier, no bright florescent lights shining down from above; I was still in the wild.

  I received a glance from a butchy woman with thick arms and a protruding belly who sat at the back of the tent atop a wooden box. She was carving something—a knife, maybe. She didn’t speak; she just watched me. A table at the center of the store displayed various handmade items: carved tools, bones, bowls, arrowheads, rope, blocks of wood, elastic-like bands, and boxes constructed of solid wood.

  I noticed several small leather pouches in a pile with strings long enough to tie them closed and around one’s waist or belt. I picked one up and rubbed my thumbs against the grainy leather.

  “Lookin’ for something?” the woman asked.

  “Um, yeah,” I said. “Just a pouch. Oh—and maybe a belt.” I raised the leather to eye level. “How much?”

  “How much you got?” she asked.

  I hesitated. Did the price really depend on how many pearls I was carrying? What kind of a store was this?

  “Well?”

  I opened my palm.

  “Seven.”

  “That pouch is six pearls,” she said nonchalantly before turning to her chiseling.

  I couldn’t help but feel as though I was being conned, but who was I to argue? I needed the pouch.

  I held on to the item and approached the merchant. I’d been about to hand over my pearls when I heard someone walk in.

  “Hey, sup, Hammer?” Ellie asked.

  The woman grunted.

  “You buying something, Brone?”

  I nodded.

  “Whatcha got there?” she asked me.

  I extended the leather pouch, and she pulled it out of my hand.

  “Nice,” she said. “How much you charging this time, Ham?”

  “Four,” the woman growled.

  “You said six,” I said.

  Ellie laughed, although I knew she hadn’t found this funny.

  “Six pearls? For a flimsy little sack of leather?” she wiggled the pouch in front of Hammer’s face who immediately lost her nonchalant attitude.

  “I said four,” she said.

  “But you originally asked for six. Is this how you treat newcomers? By ripping them off?”

  Hammer didn’t speak, and I suddenly felt very uneasy. I didn’t want to be hated by someone else.

  “It’s okay,” I said, “I’ll pay the four.”

  “No, you won’t,” Ellie said. “Hammer knows better.”

  I could see the fury building behind Hammer’s eyes, but it was evident that Ellie had some kind of leverage over her.

  “You need anything else?” Ellie asked me.

  I shook my head, even though I’d hoped to get myself a belt. I couldn’t risk being completely despised.

  “In that case, you get one pearl,” Ellie said, “and even that’s generous.”

  She pulled a pearl out of my palm, dropped it onto Hammer’s lap, then poured my remaining pearls into my new pouch before leading me out of the tent. I hoped I wouldn’t have to return to the Tools tent anytime soon, but that was wishful thinking.

  “That was close,” Ellie said, as we walked out into the open.

  I wasn’t sure whether to thank her or scold her. I could have handled myself.

  “Oh don’t look at me like that,” she said. “You almost got gypped.”

  “And now Hammer hates me,” I said.

  “What do you care? You’ll always have enemies here on the island, Brone. But if you let them push you around, you’ll become a victim.”

  I parted my lips to thank her, suddenly realizing that she was right, but the sound of rapid footsteps caught my attention. They were walking right toward me—Trim and her usual crew. There were about six other women behind them, and the only face I recognized was Sunny’s.

  “There’s a drop coming,” Trim said.

  She threw a bow into my hands, and I nearly dropped it. Was this a joke? I hadn’t received proper training. I didn’t know how to hit a target. What good would I be with a bow?

  And what was a drop, anyways?

  CHAPTER 7

  If I hadn’t known any better, I’d have assumed we were running from a wild panther. I’d fallen to the back of the line, with Trim and her crew at the front and Sunny and the other women following closely behind.

  They hopped and lunged forward over fallen trees, masses of muddy water, and even animal carcasses. It was already hard enough keeping pace; it was even harder with an oversized wooden bow in one hand and a loose pouch filled with pearls. Trim had tied a quiver around my shoulders, and I could feel the arrows bouncing up and down as I ran forward. I feared they might go flying out, but they did no such thing.

  I glanced back several times as we ran, praying no one, or nothing, was following us. I could see an opening up ahead, and I realized we’d reached the end of the jungle. Trim stood still, hiding behind several overlapping branches and rotting greenery.

  She signaled us to remain quiet, which was hard to do being that I was entirely out of breath. What were we looking for, anyways? I stretched my neck in an attempt to peer over the many shoulders in front of me, but it was useless. The only thing I saw was the ocean: sand, water, and sky.

  Trim raised a finger, signaling us once more to remain as still as possible. That’s when I heard it—the blades of a helicopter. But they weren’t getting louder. Rather, the sound was becoming fainter, until finally, I could no longer hear it.

  “They’re gone,” Fisher said.

  “Where’s the drop, then?” Biggie asked, towering above all of us.

  Trim muttered something in anger, but I couldn’t make it out. Were they receiving supplies?

  “She must have found her own way,” Flander said.

  “Yeah, right,” Rocket said. “Northers probably got to her before us.”

  It all made sense to me now. A new felon had been dropped onto Kormace Island, and their hope was to recruit her, as they’d done with me. I couldn’t believe anyone would have found their own way through a wild jungle after such a long swim. I remembered dragging myself onto shore and how utterly exhausted I’d become, almost to the point of absolute incapacity.

  “Why don’t we just track her footsteps?” asked one of the other women. She stepped forward, but Trim threw her arm against her chest.

  “I give orders, and you obey,” she growled. “This could be a trap.”

  The woman stepped back indignantly.

  “Let’s go,” Trim ordered.

  She walked past us and moved into position to lead. Fisher was by her side as always, with Rocket, Biggie, and Flander close behind. I couldn’t help but wonder how Eagle was doing. No one had spoken her name since she’d been injured. I couldn’t imagine anyone surviving
grave injuries on this island. There was no proper medical care.

  “Well, that was pointless,” Sunny said.

  She smirked at me, clearly attempting to force a smile on my face. But I was too exhausted to feign interest in her comedic ways. How was anyone built for this type of physical exertion? We’d spent the last hour running east to the shoreline of Kormace Island, and now we were expected to simply return to the Village?

  I suddenly remembered gym class in ninth grade. Our teacher, who’d also been nicknamed Little John for his unusually large size and his borderline obsessive fascination with Robin Hood, had always been keen on making us do beep tests—a test consisting of continuous running from one point to another, quickening in pace by the sound of a beep being emitted from an old cassette player. I’d hated him for this. I’d never reached past the fourth beep, being the only person left sitting out of the race, alongside Gail, the fattest kid in class.

  Trim was basically my gym teacher, only much harsher and more barbaric. If I’d disobeyed Little John, he’d have sent me to the principal’s office. Trim, however, might have my head, or worse, ban me from ever returning to the Village. The latter of the two possibilities was bound to lead to a painful, tortuous death caused by starvation, or more likely, an attack.

  I’d simply have to obey.

  I hopped over sharp-edged rocks being cleaned by a narrow stream of water. My sneakers had turned a shade of brown, but I was grateful to have them nonetheless. The last thing I wanted to run in were shoes constructed of wood and leather, which appeared to be what everyone else was wearing. Rocket had advised me to remove any real-world pieces of clothing and accessories, explaining to me that the newer I looked, the harder time I’d have integrating within the Village’s society. I’d tossed everything but my sneakers, my bra, and my hair elastic, even though I knew their lifespan was limited.

  I suddenly heard a soft whistle followed by a gentle pat on my back. It was Sunny. She’d slowed her pace, and she was moving away from the group and toward a slanted tree in the distance. She held her bow in one hand, and from her quiver, slowly drew an arrow. I knew she’d spotted an animal.

  But what was she doing? She’d never hunted before. Trim hadn’t given the order to hunt, either. I couldn’t determine what she was aiming for. All I saw was darkness, surrounded by drooping greenery and shattered rocks.

  The string of her bow made a squeaky sound as she pulled hard, preparing to kill her target. But I didn’t see the arrow leave her bow or hear a cry in the distance…

  I was suddenly lying flat on my back, my head aching and my vision blurred. I was alone.

  I blinked several times to gain clarity, but all I could see was a shape being dragged into the thick of the jungle. I blinked several times again. It was Sunny. I could tell by the frizz atop her head and by the way her scrawny arms dangled on either side of her body. She was being taken away by someone or something. The creature stood as a human but had the face of a black panther with skin hanging all around its edges. A mask?

  I tried to cry for help, but nothing came out. I couldn’t move. For a moment, I wondered if perhaps I’d been killed by this half-beast.

  “Brone,” I heard, over and over again.

  Warmth slowly returned to my extremities, and my sight began to clear.

  “Brone, what happened?”

  “She’s in shock.”

  “Don’t touch her.”

  “There’s blood,” I heard. I wasn’t sure whether they were talking about mine or Sunny’s. I had droplets sprinkled across my chest, and the mud around us was stained a deep red.

  “What happened?” Trim asked.

  She knelt in front of me, her eyes fierce and her breath heavy.

  I shook my head. I wanted to vomit.

  “Brone, what did you see?” she pressed.

  “Someone—something…” I tried.

  She rested a hand on my shoulder.

  “I think it was a Norther… I think. They took Sunny. I don’t know,” I said, causing an eruption of fear among the new Battle Women.

  Her brows came together, and she quickly stood up.

  “Did anyone else see anything?” she asked, pacing around everyone.

  “I did,” Rocket said, her face hardening, and her eyes meeting mine.

  Everyone fell silent.

  “That wasn’t a Norther.”

  Part 2 coming soon…

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